In the Closet
by Alix Cohen
Summary: Italy goes looking for pasta...and finds a long-forgotten secret about his best friend. GerIta; an expansion of JoyHeart's oneshot of the same name.
1. Prologue

**A/N: The following conversations come from original **_**Hetalia**_** scenes. Speakers: first two scenes—Holy Rome and Chibitalia; third scene—a bodyguard, Holy Rome, and Chibitalia; fourth scene—Hungary, Shotalia (teenage Italy), and Austria.**

"Um…Italy…would you mind teaching me how to paint?"

"Sure! Holy Rome, I…didn't know you were interested in painting."

….

"Here, do it like this."

"I, uh…I think I've had enough for one day."

"Holy Rome? Where are you going?"

* * *

"Italy—"

"Eep! Don't worry, I'm cleaning, I'm—"

"Italy, help me rebuild the Roman Empire. Together, we can be the strongest nation in the world!"

"…"

"Come on! You don't want to waste your life like this, do you?"

"Of course not…ve…but Grandpa Rome was, well, he fell because he got too powerful! At the end he was covered in scars…I don't want to see that happen to you, Holy Rome."

* * *

"Holy Rome, let's get you moving. You know, you could've left the paintings behind; they're so bulky. Wait—isn't that your girlfriend, the servant?"

"No—I just—"

"Well then, it's deadweight. Leave it."

…

"Oh, Holy Rome, you're here."

"Italy? How did you know where…don't come any closer. Don't! You run away when I chase you, but when I stop…Look. There's something I have to say. I'm—I'm sorry for everything. I'm leaving now, so you'll be fine."

"Wait—Holy Rome, you're actually _leaving_? Wait! Take this with you!"

"A push-broom." _I suppose it makes sense._ "Thank you. Now, I suppose—what do people in your country give people they love?"

"A kiss, I think."

"All right."

…

"You know, I've loved you ever since the tenth century."

"Really? Ve…"

"Goodbye, Italy! I'll come back when the war's over!"

"I'll wait for you! Don't get hurt, okay?"

"We'll see each other again, don't worry! No matter how many centuries pass, I'll never love anyone more than you!"

* * *

"Mr. Austria! I've got great news. (Go ahead, Italy.)"

"Mr. Austria! Listen—my voice changed! It sounds weird…ve…ve…ve…"

"Huh?"

"Italy, I'm so happy for you!"

"What's going on?"

"Mr. Austria, you didn't know?"

"Oh, Miss Hungary, I wonder what Holy Rome will think of my new voice!"


	2. 1: Pasta

**A/N: Thank you to JoyHeart for letting me work on this story.**

Italy wandered through Germany's house looking for pasta. There hadn't been any in the kitchen, so Germany must have left it somewhere else and forgotten to tell him. There was no way any house could not have pasta in it, right?

As he searched every room without finding even the scent of pasta, Italy wondered whether Germany would mind him going through his house while Germany was out training with his own military.

"Oh, I'm sure it'll be fine!" Italy giggled as he checked the bathroom. No pasta hiding there. "Germany won't mind if he comes home and lunch is already made for him! That always makes _me_ feel good."

While some less-determined people might get discouraged after finding nothing on the first and second floors, Italy made up his mind to search in Germany's dark scary basement. He generally avoided going into the basement, but now there was pasta on the line.

Italy turned the light on, looked down the stone steps, and gulped nervously. He had never been in Germany's basement before; he only knew it was there because Germany's brother Prussia showed him once on a tour of the house. It was strange—Prussia had seemed really determined to get Italy to go into the basement with him that day, but Italy had been too scared. What was hiding down there? Pasta, he hoped.

And then he thought he smelled it. Some special Italian pasta sense awoke at the back of his brain. There was some down there, and he knew it. And he knew he had to get it. He crept cautiously down the chilly, echoing stairs, glancing over his shoulder at the kitchen once in a while, to make sure it was still there.

Prussia had said he lived in Germany's basement. He was out too, training with Germany, but still. You'd think the basement would be less scary—and less cold—if someone lived there.

His sense of pasta nearby grew stronger as he reached the bottom of the stairs and looked around. Here was the part of the basement where Prussia lived. The stone walls still seemed oppressive, but Italy could see a bed, a television, an Xbox, a couch with an abandoned laptop lying on it, and a mini-fridge (probably full of beer). Now that he could see Prussia's stuff lying around, Italy wasn't so scared.

He was about to check in the cupboards near the mini-fridge when something caught his eye. He turned his head and saw the black wooden door in the wall next to the bathroom. The strange door had an equal-armed cross engraved on it. The symbol seemed vaguely familiar to Italy. He wasn't sure where he'd seen it before, but he was sure that there was pasta on the other side.

Italy nodded to himself, then hurried to the door and tried opening it. It was locked. He pulled, pushed, rattled the knob, but nothing worked. In general, Italy was not a strong nation.

But his favorite food was on the line. He took a few steps back, then charged the door with a traditional Italian battle cry.

"PAAAAASTAAAAAA!" The door smashed.

* * *

Out on the lawn, Germany was giving orders to his men. Nothing unusual—until he stopped mid-sentence, eyes wide, and began to tremble.

"Commander? Are you all right, sir?" asked an officer. Germany didn't answer. Then he screamed. Not a pleasant sound.

* * *

"Germany?" For a moment, Italy thought he had heard his friend shout, but he had probably imagined it. The door had opened on a small walk-in closet with crosses on the walls. Hooks on one wall held a child's black cape and hat. Unframed canvasses leaned against the walls, and everything was covered in a thick layer of dust.

"Ve… how strange... oh, PASTA!" Italy said gleefully, noticing several packages of pasta sitting in the corner. He raced toward it, but tripped over something. He heard a snap as he fell.

The thing that had snapped was an ancient push-broom, now broken neatly in half. "Ve…what's this doing in the middle of the floor?" Italy thought aloud. But as mysteries went, pasta was more important. Italy looked the packages over. "Oh... this is very old pasta, I can't make anything with this..." Italy sighed sadly. Had Germany eaten all the pasta in the house? That almost made sense…except it didn't.

Now, what about that broom? Why was it there? And would Germany be mad that Italy had broken it?

* * *

"Where did the Commander go?"

"Indoors. He kept shouting "Italy, Italy!" I think the Commander is done for the day."

"So…we can stop for drinks now?"

"I think so, Herr Beilschmidt."

"_Awesome_," said Prussia.


	3. 2: Memories

Italy was about to take a peek at one of the canvases when he heard a door slam upstairs.

"Veeee~?" Italy said. Suddenly he saw Germany in front of him, red-faced and panting. "Germany? Where did you come from?"

"Why are you in this room? _How_ are you in this room? It's been locked for... I don't know how long... I forgot it was even here!" Germany ran a hand through his hair.

Italy was frightened, but not enough not to tell the truth. "Well, I came over to visit you but Prussia told me that you were out training and he said I could wait here for you. Then I got hungry and went to make pasta but I guess you must've eaten it all before I got here because I checked your whoooole house and didn't find any! But then I braved the really scary basement that turned out not to be so scary and I saw this room and knew there was pasta in here! So I broke down the door and here I am! But the pasta was old. Germany, let's go out and get pasta!" Germany grimaced.

"Italy..." Germany sighed. "You remember how Nations' houses work, right?" Germany sighed.

"Ve~ of course I do! They hold relics and memories from our pasts! Each room has memories in it… oh…this room was locked, right, Germany?" Italy blushed. "I'm sorry, was this a painful memory?"

Germany winced. "W-well I... I guess a little... it's not so strong now, so it probably wasn't so bad…what's that on the floor?"

Italy glanced behind him. "Oh, it's just a broom I stepped on by accident. Sorry!"

"WHAT?" Germany pushed Italy aside and knelt, hands shaking, to pick up the pieces of the broom.

"G-Germany? It was only a broom... are you mad at me?" Italy asked worriedly.

"Th-this broom...it was...important...dammit, I can't remember why, but it was important!" Italy stared at Germany's back, then slowly walked around him—and his jaw dropped.

"Ve~ G-Germany? Are you crying? You have tears in your eyes... I'm very sorry, don't cry, Germany," Italy said softly. He was always the one crying; he wasn't sure what to do when it was someone else.

Germany didn't answer. Eventually he wiped the tears from his face with a shirt sleeve. Then he stood, leaving the pieces of the broom on the ground.

"Well I... I guess now I'll never know what it was for," Germany shook his head, seeming to be getting over his momentary overwhelmed feeling. "Anyway, it was a long time ago."

Italy looked relieved that Germany had gotten over whatever was making him so sad. "Ve~ I'm glad you're okay, Germany! So we can go get pasta now, right?"

Germany sighed. "Sure, why not?"

"YAHOO!" Italy shouted, and he ran upstairs.

"Hey, slow down!" Germany snapped, marching after Italy. He had to remember to get a new door for that closet. Honestly, most of the memories in that room were best left locked away and forgotten. Sadly, the broom might have been one of the few good ones. But it was too late for that now.

As they were climbing the stairs to the first floor, Italy turned around and asked, "Hey Germany? What was that room for, anyway?"

"Oh?" Germany blinked, "Well I'd forgotten until it was open, but that room has all my things from when I was the Holy Roman Empire. But that was so long ago, it has nothing to do with my life now, so I locked it away."

"Holy Rome? That sounds familiar..." Italy said, frowning.

"Well... I suppose you were alive by then...maybe you'd heard of me? But really, it wasn't a time I'm proud of. Let's forget about it."

"Ve~ okay, Germany!" Italy said. All he'd really wanted was pasta, not a history lesson.

Germany sighed as the two headed for the nearest Italian-style restaurant. Honestly, the kid _had_ to stop going through his things all the time. He really didn't need that room to be open; there was too much pain inside. Battles, of course, that he didn't care to remember; but there were paintings in there, too, and feelings he never wanted to have again. That girl he'd loved, so long ago…who followed him when he wasn't looking, then rejected him whenever he pursued her…he couldn't remember her name, maybe it was connected to the broom, he didn't know. But those paintings—all were of her.

He would have to replace that door. Memories like that should stay in the closet.


	4. 3: Lunch

"Hurry up!" Italy called. Germany was jerked back to the present and saw Italy waving at him from half a block ahead. Why did that boy only become faster than him when food or the enemy was involved? He didn't make sense.

"I told you to slow down! It's not a race!" Germany snapped. He remembered that he had left his soldiers, but he reasoned that they would continue until he returned or until it was time to quit.

...

"_Awesome!_"

"We need to take breaks more often!"

"Hey, if _I _were in charge, and not my lame-ass brother, we would."

"Great party, Gil! Hey Rolf, more beer!"

...

Yes, Germany's troops were diligent; they would be fine on their own. Contenting himself with that thought, Germany followed his ally into the restaurant. They sat in a booth in the corner, and Italy quickly ordered the all-you-can-eat spaghetti, while Germany, thanking God for comprehensive menus, ordered steak and mashed potatoes.

As they waited for their food, Germany noticed that Italy wasn't talking nonstop. In fact, he wasn't talking at all. He glanced at his only friend and realized that there was a strange expression on his face. It took him a moment, to figure out Germany what it meant.

"I-Italy, are you... thinking?" Germany asked, bemused. He didn't mean to sound insulting, but it didn't matter; Italy couldn't read the mood if his life depended on it.

"Huh?" Italy's head jerked up, and he looked confused, a much more normal expression for him. "Oh, ve~, yes! S-sorry, I know you said to not worry about it, but I'm trying to remember why the name Holy Rome is so familiar."

Germany looked suddenly uncomfortable. "W-well, like I said, you probably heard it before, I don't know, even with the closet open I don't remember everything. I mean I'd probably remember more if I actually looked in there, but I really don't think that's necessary."

"Ve~, well if you say so," Italy looked thoughtful again, which worried Germany a little.

They sat silently until the food arrived. Italy devoured one bowl, and asked for a second. Germany was glad he'd worked out with Italy that he would stop ordering pasta when Germany was finished with his meal. It was polite, not to mention that it was the only way Italy wouldn't be banned from every restaurant in Germany that offered all-you-can-eat pasta.

Once they had finished eating, the two headed back to Germany's house. Germany offered to make coffee, and Italy quickly agreed. As Germany began taking out mugs, Italy excused himself to go to the bathroom.

But Italy did not return to the kitchen. Leaving the bathroom, he found himself drawn back to the basement.


	5. 4: Fragments

"Ve~ I don't know why, but I really want to visit Germany's Holy Rome room again. Maybe if I do, I'll remember why I know the name!" Italy hurried down the steps. "I'm sure Germany won't be angry, after all, maybe he and I were friends and forgot about it! I'm sure it'll only make us closer! Except..." Italy's run slowed as he approached the closet doorway. "What if... what if we weren't friends?"

If they weren't friends... what if he and Holy Rome had been enemies? Would that hurt their friendship now? No... no, Germany'd said that all this was long ago, and he wouldn't hold any grudge for so long! Italy didn't think anybody had a real grudge against him from back then anyway, he always did his best to do what everyone else told him, so he wouldn't get hurt!

Italy walked into the room and immediately went to the canvas in the back corner. There was no way it could hold anything that would ever change Italy and Germany's friendship! He flipped around the canvas and looked at the image. His eyes widened, an event in itself.

"Wh-what?" Italy looked back down at the canvas, which had turned out to be a painting of him as a child, fast asleep. He wondered what it could mean—why would Holy Rome have a picture of him as a child? "Oh, I bet we were friends! I really want to remember now! Maybe if I show this to Germany he will remember us being friends and he can tell me so I'll remember too ve~!"

With that, Italy dashed upstairs to the kitchen, clutching the painting to his chest.

"Germany! Look what I found!" Italy said breathlessly.

Germany groaned. "You took long enough, I thought you'd gotten your foot stuck in the toilet or something and I'd have to rescue you again. What is it?" He looked at the painting Italy was holding, and his face reddened. "Wh-why did you go back to that room?"

"Oh no! Germany's scary!" Italy yelped, hiding his face behind the picture. "I'm sorry! I-I'll go put it back, I just... I wondered if you remember why you had a painting of me is all!"

Germany was about to yell again but stopped before a sound could pass his lips. His jaw worked soundlessly a few times before he managed to whisper, "A-a painting of... you?"

"Ve... yes..." Italy peeked out from behind the canvas in question.

"But Italy, that's of a girl, you're a boy, th-this doesn't make sense!" Germany said, still red-faced with anger.

"Oh no, Germany, that's what I looked like back when I lived with Austria! He thought I was girl and had me wear girl clothes and I guess Hungary also dressed me in them too but I didn't know everyone thought I was a girl until waaaay later, it's crazy right? Only it was all okay cause when my voice changed Austria got me boy clothes."

Germany simply stared at him, dumbfounded. That girl was _Italy_? But she was...but she didn't love him back and...that was Italy? Useless Italy? The little pain in the neck who he'd beat up more than once, who he'd forced to train harder than he'd probably ever done anything in his life? Italy didn't seem to remember Germany as Holy Rome. S-so...what should he do now? Did he tell Italy he couldn't remember and then maybe burn the picture, or at least wall it up again so he wouldn't need to remember? Only...only he would still remember now, it was out of the room, staring him in the face, connected to the present—and to _Italy_. I-Italia. He remembered her name. She was Italy.

"Mein Gott..." Germany breathed finally, with no clue how to respond.

"Ve~, it's okay if you don't remember, Germany. M-maybe I'll go ask Mr. Austria! He might remember, he remembers more about me when I was little than even I do!" Italy said frantically.

"N-nein!" Germany gasped. Austria? No, he couldn't let Austria tell him everything! "N-no, I-I remember! I...we were...friends! Y-yes, I was Holy Rome and we were friends! Th-that's all! That's all you need to know!"

"Ve~ I'm glad!" Italy said cheerfully. And he was glad. He and Germany would be friends forever now!

"Y-yes...me too..." Germany said softly, though he was far from glad. Yes...friends...they'd be friends forever...he supposed that the girl he'd loved was lost to him now. If she didn't love him then, how could Italy love him now? "Um, how about we put that picture away now?"

"Okay, Germany!" Italy said, and they headed back to the basement. Italy leaned the canvas back against the wall he'd found it on—but facing into the room this time.

"Ah...it wasn't facing that way before, Italy." Germany tried to say this with more emphasis, but didn't feel like yelling at Italy for some reason. In fact, the idea was almost sickening, and he didn't understand why. Even if it turned out, by some strange twist of fate, that Italy had been his first love (and really, his only love), Italy was a very different person now. He shouldn't connect the two...though now that he had, he was noticing similarities. He could imagine Italy's distinctive hair on his Italia's head. The same always-half-closed eyes, the same cute smile when he slept—had he just thought of Italy as cute?

"Oh, but I thought it could face the room, don't you think I looked cute as a child, Germany?" Italy glanced self-consciously at Germany, who was horrified to find himself blushing again.

"N-no I...yes I...you were...w-well, all children are cute!" Germany stammered. "Leave it the way it is."

Italy nodded, looking more cheerful, and looked down at the pieces of the broom on the floor. He bent over and picked them up, frowning. "Y-you know...Germany...it's weird. I know this is your house, but this broom feels like it's a memory for me too, you know? Now that I'm holding, it I mean."

"Strange…" Germany said slowly. A memory he shared with Italy? Or...Italia...why had he kept a push-broom so long?

"I wonder..." Italy looked at Germany and handed him one piece of the broom. "Let's put them together and see if we remember anything!"

Germany's eyes widened. Remembered...what if Italy remembered his chasing him? What would that mean for their friendship? Well...it was Italy...maybe he wouldn't think anything of it, but even Germany knew Italia had been terrified of him...

Still, he could think of no way to say no, and took the brush-end of the broom with sweaty hands. "J-ja."

"Hooray!" Italy smiled, and the two nations held out the halves of the broom, slowly fitting them together. And stared at each other.

The cobblestone path outside Austria's house came to their minds. A broom, a gift from one to the other. A plea. A confession. A...a kiss.


	6. 5: Lesson

Germany blushed bright red. Italy started to tremble. The pieces of the broom fell from their hands, but the memory lingered.

"Y-you..." Germany brought his hand up to his mouth, as if he could still feel Italia's lips on his.

"G- Germany?" Italy stumbled backwards, swallowing fiercely. "I-I...H-Holy Rome you...w-why did you never come back?"

"I-Italy I..." Germany stumbled over his words, "I always wanted to come back but... my empire fell apart in the wars. I stayed alive by becoming Germany, but I meant that I...that I had to lock Holy Rome away. Prussia helped me change; I gave him some of my old strength for that, and that's why he's still alive now, I owe him _my_ life, but…I really did mean to come back!" Germany reached out and grabbed Italy's shoulder, a little too tightly.

"O-oh, well... I guess I forgive you then..." Italy said, blushing pink. "Ve~, so... what happens now?"

"I-I don't know," Germany admitted, taking half a step back and letting go of Italy's shoulder. "I-I thought you were a girl then...and I was different too…I don't even know if it would _work_ now, I mean, d-do you even still... ah, I mean..."

"Do I still what?" Italy asked, confused. "I know I'm a boy now, if that's what you're asking..."

"No, of course not!" Germany snapped, causing Italy to wince. Germany closed his eyes and forced himself to breathe deeply. He didn't need to keep reminding Italy of how scary he could be. "I mean...you don't...still want to wait for Holy Rome? Now that...now that you know it's me?"

Italy stared at Germany for a moment, and a rare moment of comprehension dawned on him. "Oh! You want to know if I still love you? Of course, Holy Rome, of course I love you! Even if you are Germany. I promised I'd wait, and I did! Well, I did like to flirt with human women, and there was that one time when Brother France…but I waited for you!"

"Human women count, you know!" Italy looked heartbroken and Germany immediately felt like an ass. "Uh...but France doesn't, since he's France, and you did forgive me…I forgive you."

"Oh good!" Italy said clapping his hands. "So we can pick up where we left off, right?"

Germany's face lit up for a second. "Just like that? But Italy…we haven't seen each other for so long, I mean, it's been different, we've been different…pick up from where, exactly?"

"From here!" Italy laughed and leapt at Germany, kissing him hard. They stayed that way for a long moment before Italy pulled away grinning. Germany looked embarrassed, but he too was starting to smile.

Suddenly a harsh voice echoed from across the room. "FINALLY! It's about time you got Italy into that goddamn closet, I've been trying to get him down here for _ages_, now you can finally get laid and quit being such a hardass, am I right? Obviously I'm right, I'm that awesome."

Germany jumped and turned to see his albino brother smirking at them from the couch. "What are you doing here?"

"Ve~, hello Prussia!" Italy waved, grinning at him.

"I live down here, thanks to you, duh," Prussia rolled his eyes, "Now go upstairs and get to fucking, I've got France and Spain coming over in ten for a threesome, and I don't want you two virgins screwing it up, got it?"

"W-we're not—not yet!" Germany managed to croak.

Italy was less shocked. "Oh, sorry to disturb you! Come on Germany, we should get out of the way—ve~!" Italy grabbed Germany's wrist and pulled him out of the room and up the stairs into the kitchen, where he immediately wrapped his arms around Germany's waist.

" Italy, w-what are you doing?" Germany said, completely out of his depth and still deciding whether or not he liked it.

"I'm hugging you, I do it all the time, remember? Only now I guess it's different...I'm just really glad you're back, Holy Rome! We can be together now, I'm so happy! Remember the World Wars, and remember getting stuck on that island? And you were always there to look out for me! You were mean sometimes, but I knew you liked me, and I'm so glad you're Holy Rome; for a while I was scared that I would give in and start loving you, and then Holy Rome would come back and find out I hadn't waited, and I'm so sorry!" Italy started crying, and Germany didn't know how to react.

Well, he had one idea, but it was something France would do, not his at all, he wasn't good at being comforting… But Italy was worried, and he remembered now how cruel he'd been to Italy in Austria's house. He'd promised never to bully her...him...again. He had a lot to make up for.

So, he threw caution to the winds and pulled Italy's chin up, kissing him fiercely, then gently licking the tears away, a little surprised that he could do such a thing.

"There's nothing to be sorry for," Germany said softly, with the smallest of smiles. Yes, he decided, he liked it.

"Oh good, I'm happy!" Italy said, looking cheerful again. Germany sighed and hugged Italy tight. The boy squeaked in surprise, then hugged him back.

Germany decided he was happy too.


	7. Epilogue

"…and so that's how I finally got Italy and Holy Rome back together. And now my little brother won't be such a hardass workaholic. Am I awesome or what?"

From the moment France and Spain arrived, Prussia couldn't stop talking about his victory. He described how he had found that closet, years ago; how he had put the pieces together and tried to get Italy to find it; and, in intimate detail, how he'd finally found his brother and Italy together and dramatically revealed his plot.

By the time he reached the end, though, France and Spain had gotten tired of listening to him. When Prussia finally looked over, they were having sex, _and_ flipped Prussia off when he tried to join them. Idiots. Didn't he plan this? Wasn't this _his_ fucking house? Well, West's, but same thing. He grabbed his pants and his cell phone, and headed upstairs to get a signal.

"Denmark? Hey, it's Prussia. You doing anything tonight? Good. Your place?"

Before he left, he stuck his head around the corner into the kitchen. No one there. Good. He tiptoed up another flight and pressed his ear to the bedroom door. Inside he could hear the distinctive sounds of a young couple figuring things out.

His smirk became an ear-to-ear grin as he left the house and strode off toward Copenhagen. Awesome mission accomplished.


End file.
